


How It Starts

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts after Dean goes to hell</p>
            </blockquote>





	How It Starts

**Author's Note:**

> Written February 2014.

It starts after Dean goes to hell. It’s the screams and the nightmares that woke them both every night, all the things the copious amounts of alcohol Dean drank couldn’t smother. Sam couldn’t listen to his brother scream anymore, scream for Sam anymore. Dean gasped himself awake, and Sam slipped out of his bed and right into his brother’s. Dean protested and fought until sam merely shrugged and settled in, drifting off to sleep on his side. Nothing was said when he woke with Dean in his arms.

It starts again after Sam gets his soul back, having fallen apart in light of Ruby and the demon blood. Only this time, it’s Sam’s nightmares keeping them awake. It’s lucifer filling his brother’s head with poisonous filth that drives Dean into Sam’s bed.

Sam’s eyes were sad and disbelieving as Dean drew him in close, resting their foreheads together. He pulled Sam’s hand up between them, running his thumb firmly along the half-healed scar. Sam sucked in a breath and his eyes went wide. “Dean,” he said as he reached the other hand out to stroke the other man’s cheek.

“S’real, Sammy. This is real. I’m real,” Dean said softly.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam’s voice was quiet. “Okay.”

Dean watched his brother lean forward, felt warm, dry lips press gently to his own, and tilted his head to make things a little more comfortable. Sam pulled back a bit, and Dean leaned up to give him a peck on the forehead. “Goodnight, Sammy,” he murmured, holding his brother close and listening as his breathing finally evened out.

It was harder to start again in the wake of Amelia, in the wake of Purgatory, Benny, and Cas. Anger, guilt, and uncertainty weighed heavily between them; it kept them apart. It kept them brothers. Neither was sure where the other stood, nor what each of them wanted. They managed to spend as little time in each other’s space as possible while still doing the job, especially once they had set up shop in the Men of Letters’ bunker.

At first, it’s a relief to have a room of his own, to have a wealth of information to sort through and learn. He can see that Dean feels the same way, quickly settling into a nesting mode Sam has never witnessed before.

Then Sam starts to grow restless. He finds his mind wandering from the texts and artifacts before him. Kevin is at a standstill with the tablet, Cas and Crowley are in the wind, and they haven’t been out on another job in a while. Finally, the itch under his skin drives him from his bed. He’s honestly surprised to find Dean nursing a glass of whiskey at the table in the “war room.” His brother’s tendency to drink had waned greatly as of late, much to Sam’s relief, but he thought that Dean had adjusted to bunker living better than he had.

“Can’t sleep?” Dean asked quietly, pouring Sam his own glass and sliding it across the table.

“Yeah,” Sam murmured, accepting the glass gratefully as he sat down. “Thanks.”

They drank in the half light of the room, allowing the warmth of the liquor to relax them into a companionable silence. Another glass each had them both yawning, and Sam stood when he’d finished his, prepared to head back to his room.

“‘Night, Dean,” he said softly as he turned to leave.

“Sammy….wait,” Dean said from behind him. Sam turned back as Dean stood, making his way around the table toward Sam. Something in his brother’s face caused Sam’s breath to catch.

“Dean, what-” was all the further he got before Dean kissed him gently, one calloused hand cupping his cheek, the other going to his waist to pull him closer. It was brief, just long enough for Sam’s eyes to flutter shut before Dean was pulling away.

“Is this okay?” Dean murmured, stroking his thumb across Sam’s cheekbone.

“I-yes. Are you sure?” Sam couldn’t help but ask.

“Miss you, Sammy.

And that was it. He missed his brother, too. They’d been so close but so far apart these last few months. Catching the hand on his waist, Sam laced their fingers together and led his brother down the hall. Pulling the covers further back on Dean’s bed, he slid in and scooted over to make room. Dean flicked out the light and followed him into bed.

For a few moments, they merely lay there in the dark, pressed close on a bed too small for two men their size. Then Sam pushes forward, catching Dean’s mouth in another soft kiss. And another. And another until sleep slows them into tired nuzzles. One of Dean’s arms is wrapped around Sam, the other’s tangled up with Sam’s. They sleep deeply, the itch of something missing finally gone.

It never starts again, because, this time, it doesn’t end


End file.
